


Perhaps Like This

by imitateslife



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Light Angst, Post-Canon, but my Marguerite is forever and always a brunette fite me, tentatively book based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: As they sail back to England, Marguerite and Percy embark on the rest of their lives together.





	Perhaps Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Hesitant Kiss - The type of kiss where their lips touch a brush against each other’s a few times, breath fanning across each other’s faces as one waits for the other to make a move.

The sea breeze, cold and salty whipped Marguerite’s dark hair back as she stepped onto the deck of the Day Dream. Her bare feet took care on the slick wood – even more care not to disturb Percy as she approached him. His back was to her and she studied his broad shoulders. Even in victory, his men and his wife safely aboard his vessel, he was not relaxed. It did not surprise her, then, when he addressed her without looking up.

“We land in Dover soon, m’dear,” he said. “You’ll want shoes by then. What will people say if Sir Percy Blakeney let his wife run wild without shoes!”

Marguerite smiled.

“If I arrive without shoes, no doubt it will be high fashion by spring to do without them.”

She leaned against the side of the boat beside him, but twisted her body so that she could see him. He seemed pensive. Though she now knew him to be a man of deep thought and even deeper feeling, the look surprised Marguerite nonetheless.

“All are safe – thanks to you,” she told him, touching his arm. “There’s no need for melancholy, my darling.”

He faced her then. For a moment, his mask slipped back into place – the lazy smile she’d come to know so well, the cheerful, booming voice, “Melancholy? What reason has Sir Percival Blakeney, Bart. to be melancholy! Odd’s fish, milady! The sea is playing tricks on your senses, what!”

“ _Percy_.”

His shoulders slumped – he looked smaller than his tall, muscular frame usually let him. He looked tired. But he did not speak. Marguerite bit her lip. Gingerly, her fingertips brushed his unshaven cheek and he flinched, as if she had hot iron brands upon the pads of her fingers. Marguerite withdrew her hand.

“Percy?”

He cast his eyes to the grey waves of the English Channel. The boat sliced through them with great ease – so much so that it was only their shadows, but not their reflections at the water’s surface. Marguerite followed his gaze and tried to see what he saw in their formless shapes.

“I should have known you were no traitor,” he said. “I should have trusted you-“

“And I should have told you the truth in full at the start,” Marguerite countered. “ _I_ should have trusted _you_.”

She looked at him and they were both silent for a long moment. Marguerite took great pride in her arts at conversation – at charm and wit. But until Percy, the only person she had ever felt compelled to share her truest feelings with was her dear Armand. Even then, there had been many times Marguerite refused to burden her beloved brother with her innermost thoughts. She was an actress in all things, but most especially in daily life. Percy deserved better than that. She inhaled bracingly.

“We cannot spend the rest of our lives apologizing to one another,” she said. “Though, no doubt, you deserve a lifetime of apologies.”

“What, then, do you propose we do?” he asked. “For I feel I could spend every breath apologizing to you and it would not be enough.”

She reached for him again. Reluctantly, her allowed her to place her hand against his cheek. The warmth of his skin seeped into her cold fingers. She gasped. Just a little. Just enough for him to turn his head. A question formed upon his lips but hers silenced it with just the barest of touches. First her thumb ghosted over his lips. Electric, lingering. Then, gently, almost timidly, she kissed him. How tempting it would be to lose herself in the feeling of his skin, the rush of warmth he gave off, the taste of his breath-! But her eyes flickered open after a fraction of a second. She withdrew. Her hand still rested upon his cheek, even as she looked away.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For everything. Oh, Percy, I shouldn’t have even-“

But his hand came to rest upon her cheek. He turned her head ever so slightly.

“Nonsense, m’dear,” he said. His voice was quiet – nothing more than a whisper. “You said it yourself: we cannot send the rest of our lives apologizing to one another.”

He leaned forward, still radiating warmth, and his lips hovered quite near Marguerite’s. She tilted her head upwards – perhaps allowed him to lift her chin.

“How then—“ Marguerite shivered – whether from cold or delight or dizzying anticipation, she could not say. “– do you propose we spend the rest of our lives?”

“Perhaps like this, madam.”

And then without another word, Percy kissed her.


End file.
